


Shall We Get Intimate Again

by missbeizy



Category: Glee
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:26:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after 4x22.  Shower sex!  Bottom!Blaine!  Feelings!  My reaction fic is so late!  Please forgive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shall We Get Intimate Again

The first thing that Kurt says as they walk through the McKinley parking lot is, "I am all about hastily thrown together formal events, but I have to say that I am totally wedding-ed out after all these years of Mr. Shue and Ms. Pillsbury circling each other like nervous circus animals." He bites his lip thoughtfully. “What will fill our social calendars next year, one wonders?”

Blaine's hand stalls around the box in his pocket. 

The wind quite literally falls from his proverbial sails.

But the truth is that it's been happening all day, coming in increasing waves of intensity.

This isn't the right time. And the distance in Kurt's eyes is just too much.

They celebrate at Breadstix as a group and then break up into smaller clumps, Blaine going home with Kurt and Sam in the end. There's champagne at home, grazing over the leftovers from the restaurant, and a lessening of the tension in Kurt's shoulders as they share the last of the dessert.

"You have marinara on your lapel," he says, smiling and reaching over and gently tapping the front of Blaine's shirt.

Blaine retrieves the stick of stain fighter from his bag and dabs at it in a distracted way. "Can I throw this in the wash?"

"Sure," Kurt says. There's a pause and then he adds, "I have something that'll fit you upstairs, if you want."

Blaine glances up at him. The distance that had been lurking all week is not gone but it's suppressed now, overtaken by a soft but intent warmth that makes Blaine's skin hum with anticipation.

Is that the offer that he thinks it is?

Sam is done loading the dishwasher, a towel thrown over his shoulder. He says goodnight to them, giving Blaine an encouraging thumbs up behind Kurt's back that makes him smile.

He's still smiling when he answers Kurt, "Okay."

Everyone has gone to bed by now, so Blaine only feels a little strange walking from the laundry room to the guest room upstairs shirtless, his jacket and tie tucked over one arm—it's not the first time that he's sneaked through the Hummel-Hudson home half-dressed.

The memory makes his skin even hotter.

He slips inside of the bedroom, hanging his jacket over the back of a chair and glancing at Kurt who is stripped down to his briefs and sitting on the bed with his toiletry bag, doing a truncated version of his cleaning and moisturizing routine.

Blaine smiles. "Anything new and exciting picked up in New York?"

"If by 'picked up' you mean samples I've been lucky enough to have thrown my way at the Vogue offices, then yes," Kurt answers, grinning. He looks young and carefree for just a second—all that pale, bare skin glowing under the yellow lamplight, dimples deep and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

Blaine can't help but stare at the taper of those broad shoulders, at the slender waist and flat belly that he still knows so well. And suddenly his own half-nakedness feels like too much. He fidgets.

Kurt finishes up with his skin care and packs away the bottles and cotton pads, fingers moving gracefully with all the evidence of years of practice at the motions. His eyes stay firmly on the task but when it's done and his bag is back on the nightstand he looks up at Blaine, and Blaine doesn't miss the way that his eyes travel from Blaine's waist all the way up to his face.

His cheeks are pink. "Is this okay?" he asks, voice gone a little rough.

Blaine clutches the desk behind him for support, breathless with want.

He can't believe that he'd actually intended to propose marriage to this man today, when simple lust is still something that's causing them problems. 

He knows he's hopeless at many things; successful flirtation ("dirty cute", really?), romantic gestures that he actually plans, and sometimes seduction when he wants it too badly and comes on too strong. 

But the offer is there, written across Kurt's features. There's nothing vague about it.

He stands a little straighter, feeling the air make the hair on his arms stand up. He knows he's blushing, that his pulse is racing and that his nipples have hardened.

And then Kurt is standing, unfurling like a model straight out of the pages of the magazines he so often peruses, slender, strong, milky limbs carrying him across the space between them. He stops in front of Blaine, eyes ticking down, taking in Blaine's torso like it's on display for his consumption alone.

"Have you—has there been anyone?" he asks.

They've had this "and it's okay if there has been, it's really okay, Blaine" conversation several times. The answer is always the same.

"No," Blaine answers, shaking as Kurt reaches for his face. "Not since the—not since February. Not since you." 

"Don't let me like that as much as I do," Kurt whispers, cupping his jaw, brushing a kiss across his the corner of his mouth. "Don't let me. Blaine. I—this is—”

"Don't stop," Blaine whispers, well aware of how many people are sleeping in the surrounding rooms.

"The problem is that I can't," Kurt says. “No. The problem is that I won't. I don't want to stop with you. I never do.” His other hand slides into Blaine's hair. 

He's shaking; Blaine can feel the instability bleed from Kurt's skin into his, and then Kurt's hands are bracketing his jaw and their mouths are together. Blaine moans, holding Kurt's naked, slender back.

It's been a confusing day—a long day, and even though he's tired and sore and in desperate need of a shower, he can't say no. He could never say no, not to that mouth moving over his the way that no one else's ever has. 

Not to Kurt's tall, slender frame bending him back into the desk. 

Not to Kurt's hands searching down his ass, his thighs, finding the backs of his knees and pulling them, lifting Blaine off of the floor and pushing him to sit back against the desk. Blaine whimpers, wrapping his legs around Kurt's waist and pulling him closer. Kurt holds his thighs, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. 

He can't breathe.

Kurt searches down along his throat with kisses that leave marks behind and when he reaches Blaine's pebbled nipples he stops and kisses back up the opposite side all the way to Blaine's ear.

"What do you want?" he breathes hotly, taking Blaine's earlobe between his teeth.

You. Every day, just like this, for the rest of my life, Blaine thinks.

But in lieu of that, he'll settle for being able to feel Kurt on him, in him, for days after he's gone. He'll settle for the memory of slightly too hard touches, of the way that sex between them leaves him feeling bruised and worked over and turned inside out no matter what they do. 

Sometimes it's sweet. Sometimes it's rough. He just wants to feel it.

He kisses Kurt roughly, fingers tracing the shape of Kurt's shoulders obsessively. "If we use the bathroom, would we wake anyone up?" He's not sure if they can avoid detection entirely no matter where in the house they go, but he's eager to find the best case scenario.

Kurt's eyes go dark. "Bathroom?"

They don't normally discuss their hook-ups this way. Blaine blushes, unwilling to break eye contact, though he knows he's red to the slope of his collarbone and his cock is tenting the front of his slacks just at the thought. 

"I want you to fuck me in the shower."

"God," Kurt groans, kissing him.

But there's always the need to ask, and so he does.

"Are you and—"

"No," he answers. "No. We're—" He twitches forward, running his fingers up the outside of Blaine's thighs. "—not."

That's all Blaine needs to hear.

He reaches between them, tucking a finger behind the waistband of Kurt's pajama bottoms, working it all the way around to the slope of his back, warm and a little sweaty at the dip, and without breaking eye contact he pushes them off of Kurt's hips. 

He licks his mouth, feeling Kurt inhale and jerk against him. 

He has never been as hungry for the touch of Kurt's naked body as he is now, never felt the need to reach out and have that cock in his hand, his mouth, his body as he does now. Sometimes the intensity of that longing takes him by surprise and this is one of those times.

"I want you," he repeats, letting himself enjoy the words on his lips, letting himself want this without guilt, "so bad." He wraps his hand around Kurt's erection, loving the way it feels as he squeezes it. “Don't ever hold back with me, don't—ever. No one in this world wants you more than I do, Kurt.”

Kurt kisses him, breathing heavily, then drags him by his hips off of the desk. "Put your legs around me."

Kurt carries him that way, their bodies twined together, into the bathroom farthest away from the other bedrooms, deposits him neatly on the sink and keeps on kissing him until Blaine is straining his zipper and whimpering, grinding his clothed lower half against Kurt's bare skin.

By the time he's on his feet and hurriedly kicking off the clinging material and trying not to make any noise, Kurt's hand between his legs and Kurt's mouth sucking soft wet spots down his collarbone, he's already so very gone.

"Shower," he gasps, as Kurt sucks his nipples, tugging them with his teeth, flicking them with his tongue.

Stumbling into the warm relief of a soapy shower is secondary to the reality of Kurt's sudsy hands doing a fairly thorough job of washing him once they're there. By the time he's clean Kurt's fingers are on his ass, spreading him and pushing him out from under the water.

Blaine plucks the lubricant from the edge of the shower, steering them away from the shower head completely as he hands it over to Kurt.

"You're sure?" Kurt asks, breath raspy and warm over Blaine's shoulder as he coats his fingers. "We have about a fifty fifty percent success rate when it comes to shower sex."

Blaine laughs, heart fluttering in his chest as he recalls. The failures had been worth the memory. "Honestly," he says, "I'm exhausted. And you're here. And I'm happy. I just want to feel you inside of me." He's a lot of other things that he doesn't have the ability or opportunity to express right now.

Kurt turns him into the shower wall, angling the spray away, but it's Kurt's lips soft over the back of his neck and shoulders, and Kurt's fingers slowly stroking him open that undoes him—he's always loved it this way, sweet and close and still so personal, Kurt's cock digging into his back as they rub together, eager to get to it even now after years of the like.

He inhales sharply when he's open enough to take a single finger, and then other, trying to breathe through the discomfort alongside the positive sensations. That first press is always so strange, so invasive; it takes a moment to get used to it.

Kurt breathes out warm over his ear. "That's it."

"Please," Blaine spits, thighs spreading. Kurt's fingers are in him to the last knuckle, turning slow, deep circles inside; the warmth spreading through him is almost as lovely as the intimacy between them, one body giving way to the other, a sweet balance of give and take. "Kurt."

Every touch is an expression of love. How is it that it's like that, that it can still be like that, even though they aren't together, even though Kurt is still so wounded, even though Blaine is still so unsure of what the outcome will be, even as he is completely sure of what they mean to each other? It's not supposed to be like this, not after what they've done to each other.

He whines, hips canted back as Kurt's fingers begin plunging faster. It feels wonderful; discomfort gone, pleasure taking its place.

"Oh," Blaine whimpers, arms braced against the shower wall, head turned into the wet crook of his elbow as Kurt adds a third finger and twists down to find him. "There. There, there—"

Kurt hisses softly, rubbing against him. "God, Blaine."

"Shh, we'll wake up—"

Kurt bites down on the curve of his shoulder, then licks across the birthmark there. "Oh, like I won't have to shush you in a few minutes," he whispers wickedly, rubbing the pads of his fingers over Blaine's prostate. "Love how noisy you are."

Eyes rolling back, Blaine pants against his arm, feeling the humid air coat the back of throat. "Yeah?" he gasps, hips working in a slow swivel. "Make me—make me—" Kurt growls low in his throat and shoves forward, plastering their bodies together against the now-warm tile. "Come on. I'm good."

Kurt's fingernails scrape down his back, and he can feel those warm blue-green eyes linger. It thrills him to the very core that Kurt still looks at him like that, drinks him in visually, becomes overwhelmed by him just as easily as he had when they were younger and fumbling and coming from the mere press of each other's bodies.

He listens to Kurt retrieve the condom and rip it open.

Lips against the curve of his neck as Kurt slicks them up again and presses between his cheeks, rubbing the head of his latex-covered cock in slow circles against Blaine's softened, puffy rim.

"In, please," Blaine babbles, grasping at the tile as Kurt's hips angle down. "God, please, fuck me."

"Told you so," Kurt says, grinning against Blaine's jaw as he slides a hand around, teasing Blaine's lips with the curve of his knuckle. "Need something in your mouth?"

Blaine giggles, overwhelmed—and of course that's when Kurt holds him by the curve of his ass and slowly, slowly pushes inside of his body. He holds his breath, letting it happen, savoring every burning inch until Kurt is inside all the way, pressing warm against the plump curves of his cheeks and exhaling loudly.

"Move," Blaine says, breathing ragged and deep.

Things blur then as the sensations demand all of Blaine's attention, the burn fading to dull pleasure as Kurt fills him again and again, holding him close, bent low on his knees so that he can reach, and yes, Blaine does take that knuckle between his teeth. He does bite down on it when the pleasure gets to be too much to quiet down, when he's wide open and slick and Kurt's cock pushing in and out of his all too willing body gets noisy and wet and he can't hear anything but that over the pounding of the water on the opposite side of the shower.

It's too much; it always it. The pleasure is sharp, sharp enough to want to get away from and sharp enough to want to be raked over by it, and Blaine just the lets stress of the day go into the depths of that sensation, lets the existence of the ring box in his mag disappear, lets the joy from the competition victory run off of his naked, wet shoulders on the back of that pleasure until all that's left is his body and Kurt's, joined so sweetly.

He loses himself in Kurt, joyful that he still can. That they still can.

That maybe they always will be able to find this place together.

It's like everything that has been off between them, about them, since Kurt came back for his father's test at the hospital just fades, leaving Blaine feeling as light as air.

When Kurt reaches for his cock he shifts away. "No, not yet. Just—just keep—moving, okay?"

"Okay," Kurt replies, panting as he pistons backward and forward, ever faster, harder. "You—feel so good."

"Harder?"

Let me just feel you, Blaine thinks, trembling when Kurt complies and he can just tuck himself in between the tile and Kurt's warm, long, naked body and be taken.

He thinks he might go soft entirely somewhere in the middle and it doesn't even matter; it's like going into a trance, the pounding of the water, his heartbeat, and Kurt's hips slapping into his all tripping to the same rhythm.

It's exquisite. Perfect.

And then Kurt tries again, finds him soft and gently licks the curve of his ear. "Let me," he whispers, slowing down, "let me make you come first. I don't care how long it takes."

"Okay."

He can't refuse Kurt anything, especially not that.

It does take a while—he isn't precisely sure why, other than the fact that he feels so far away, so wrapped up in the way that it feels to just give himself to Kurt like this, quiet and slow and sweet. It's so unlike the sex they had when they were together, and maybe that is why.

It doesn't matter.

He gets hard again, minute by minute. Kurt stops to get some lubricant because the soap has left Blaine's skin a little dry and the friction is too much. Kurt's slippery fist jerking him just right is all he needs to bring him back. He fucks that sweet channel, growing hot all over again as Kurt's little sympathetic whines and inhales begin to match his.

When he finally does come, fucking back onto Kurt's cock and forward into Kurt's hand with rapid, desperate hitches, he bites down on Kurt's finger so hard that it leaves marks. The orgasm rips down his spine, coils at the base of his cock and leaves him breathless and shaking. 

He stares at his come dripping down the wall of the shower and feels his ass throb.

"Better?" Kurt asks, and god his voice is so rough—he must have stopped himself from going over the edge at least a few times now.

Blaine rolls his hips, working his loosened hole up and down the shaft of Kurt's cock. "Come in me," he says, soft and desperate. He needs that—more than anything he needs to feel Kurt shiver and come apart inside of him, needs this to be complete.

Kurt takes his hand back so that he can hold Blaine's waist, drag his ass back hard and fast against now-frantic grinds of his cock deep inside. He hasn't really pulled out more than a little since he began, and Blaine has forgotten what it feels like to be empty.

He whimpers, clamping down hard, wanting to keep Kurt inside.

"God," Kurt whispers, shaking, throat heaving with suppressed noise as he rocks into Blaine. "Just let me—" He pushes Blaine harder into the shower wall, fingers digging into his skin. 

"Come on, honey," Blaine replies, lacing their right hands together against his side. "Come on. Want you to." He forgets, somewhere in between a gasp and a whimper. "Love you so much, come on."

Kurt bites down on his shoulder, moans into his skin and falls apart, fucking him into the wall with hard, deep thrusts. "Blaine."

"My legs are useless," Blaine says into the silence after, clutching Kurt's arms around him.

"Shower sex is overrated, but our shower sex is totally worth it," Kurt replies.

Maybe a little part of both of them forgets.

Blaine is blushing—not because Kurt is pulling out of him, but because he remembers the words he'd just spit out and wonders if Kurt had even heard them. 

They share a towel in front of the mirror, smiling at each other in bashful turns, and Blaine can't resist pulling Kurt by the hips against him, can't resist kissing that sex-flushed mouth, the spiky wet hair at his temple, the curves of his jaw and cheekbones, can't stop his fingers from tracing all the ridges and dips of Kurt's chest and belly and hips.

He could literally go mad for every spare inch of this man, given time.

It's almost too much, the freedom to touch and taste after so many lonely nights spent wondering if he'd ever even be allowed to look at Kurt kindly again.

And there it is, right on the cusp of his present thought; the idea strikes him.

He remembers Kurt's expectant face last week in the hallway.

The words, when they come, are unplanned. And that's maybe why they're the right ones.

"Can I ask you something?"

Kurt smiles, nods, and for the first time in a long while his feelings are right there, written across his face.

He touches Kurt's hips reverently, holding him at arm's length. "Would you like to go out with me tomorrow night? Dinner? Before you go? On a date. I mean.” He smiles. “A romantic date. A not just friends date.”

"Blaine Anderson," Kurt replies, eyelids fluttering, shoulders sagging with what can only be described as relief. "I thought you would never ask."


End file.
